"You can count me out of staying in slave rooms 'specially if there are shared bathrooms. That's nasty. I 'd scratch my toes and feet every minute morning, day, and night. I scratch my toes and feet for an hour every time I shower in the locker room after gym classes. I like four star hotels."
"You've never been to four star hotels—just seen photographs of Rick staying in one while in Rome."
"I want to go. You need to let me go! But there will be no vagabombing."
"Aren't you the little male dictator. You sound like Michael. Do you like that guy?"
"Better than nothing, I guess."
"'Better than nothing, I guess,'" she mocked. "Glad to know that perspective. It makes it easier to know that you won't be upset when I tell you something. Well, how do I say this? There are 6 billion people on the planet each with his own personality, routine, and dreams to acquire this or that. Even lovers can't get along. It's an absolute miracle that we don't go around plucking each other's eyes out. It is good that we are smart enough to know that there would be ramifications for actions like that. Okay, here it is: better than nothing BEFORE, and NOW you have nothing. I've kicked out that rigid giraffe, Michael. At this house he is no more. Michael won't be living here any longer; and this trip to Euro-Asia, if I decide to do it, will be to celebrate not having that guy silently pull my strings any longer."
"And Rick?"
"And Rick." She sighed. "I guess he won't be here."
"You gonna kick me out next?"
"Don't be ridiculous. You are my son."